


opus thirty-five

by extasiswings



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Buck PoV, Cellist!Eddie, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Gratuitous Descriptions of Music, M/M, Soft Eddie Diaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: The video is a little shaky and the quality isn’t great—definitely an earlier-model digital recorder that wasn’t being held completely still—but sure enough, it’s Eddie.  Young—god, so young—but in a jacket and tie, looking entirely comfortable as he sets a bow to the cello strings and sinks into a familiar Bach melody.  It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t need to be.  Buck can hear the passion regardless of the minor hiccups, can see it in his face, and he feels—he feels——desperately sad.  For the boy on the screen and the man he knows, who put the music away and became a soldier and a husband and a father instead, one who never does anything for himself.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 247





	opus thirty-five

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spinningincircles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/gifts).
  * Inspired by [you play, and everything else goes away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427860) by [spinningincircles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/pseuds/spinningincircles). 



> Since cellist!Eddie started because of a conversation between myself and spinningincircles, I asked if I could write a little something in this universe and this was the result. Just some sweetness.

Buck has always loved music. 

As a kid, he could have gone either way—his parents used it as just another status symbol, sitting on symphony boards and putting him and Maddie in their best clothes to drag them to concerts, and goodness knows there are a lot of things he dislikes out of spite after being forced to do them during childhood—but he settles on love. There’s something magic in it, in sitting in a symphony hall or an opera house or a church, and watching, listening to the space come alive. Magic in the ringing echoes of reverberation in a room with especially live acoustics. Magic in the way it hooks its claws into you and takes you on a journey, transports you, makes you feel everything—

Buck can still remember the first time he listened to a piece and found himself on the verge of tears without even knowing why. The first time his breath caught at the violin solo in Scheherazade. 

He studied the violin. For four months at the age of eleven. It didn’t come naturally and he was an easily frustrated and impatient kid—traits that he hasn’t fully grown out of as an adult—so he stopped. But he still loves music, will still wander off some nights to the symphony or a chamber concert and not tell anyone what he’s doing except to say he’s busy. Not because he’s ashamed or anything like that, but because it’s just...his time. His space to sit and listen and feel everything at once. He doesn’t want to bring anyone else into it. 

He doesn’t really think about it much until he’s giving Eddie a ride home from the station after a long shift and the stereo starts playing the next track on one of his random shuffled playlists. Eddie’s brow furrows and Buck reaches for the dial to turn it off only to stop when Eddie says—

“Is this John Adams?” 

Buck blinks, briefly thrown and readjusting his initial assumption that the look on Eddie’s face had been because he thought it was weird to suddenly be faced with the sounds of an orchestra coming out of his speakers rather than his usual fare. 

“I—yeah.” His hand continues to hover over the dial even as Eddie leans back against the headrest, his eyes closing and lips curving up as he listens.

“Cool. Personally, I think Glass is better, but…”

It startles a laugh out of him and Buck pulls his hand back and refocuses on putting the car in drive.

“You’re entitled to your wrong opinion I suppose,” he replies.

Eddie chuckles quietly and the two of them fall into a contented silence as Buck pulls out of the parking lot, music continuing to fill the car all the way to Eddie’s, and then, when Buck’s alone again, all the way home. 

But that’s all it is—a brief exchange, the casual acknowledgment of another shared interest. Buck is curious but also doesn’t want to pry. If it’s an interest Eddie’s kept to himself, he probably has a reason, so—Buck leaves it alone. It’s not until summer that he gets some clarity in the form of Eddie’s sister Sophia visiting.

She stops by the station to meet the team—apparently Eddie had begged her not to, but she couldn’t be swayed from wanting to see where he worked—and they’re all sitting around the kitchen table, Sophia doing her sisterly duty of teasing her brother and sharing childhood stories with them, when she mentions—

“Was that the year you got into the all-state orchestra, or was that your junior year?” 

“Orchestra?” Buck asks, glancing over at Eddie who is rubbing at the back of his neck.

Sophia grins. “Oh yeah, Eddie was our own little Yo-Yo Ma. The orchestra teacher at our high school loved him, I’m pretty sure she used to pick pieces with cello solos just to give him more to do.”

If Buck hadn’t been watching so closely, he might have missed the flicker of painful longing that flashes across Eddie’s face before his expression clears into something more neutral.

“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago,” Eddie replies. “And I wasn’t _that_ good anyway, you’re exaggerating.”

“Do you still play?” Buck asks. 

“I probably wouldn’t mind taking lessons again,” Eddie admits. “But that’s not really—I don’t have an instrument anymore or the time necessarily so…no, I don’t.”

He changes the subject then, sparking a debate about who had been responsible for what during something referred to only as _the chilaquiles Incident of 2005_ , and Buck is listening still, but only partly. The rest of him is preoccupied thinking about the look on Eddie’s face when the subject arose, reading between the lines of what Sophia said and what she didn’t. 

Later that week, after Sophia has gone home, Buck gets an email with a video attachment and the message: _Don’t let him lie to you. He really was good._

The video is a little shaky and the quality isn’t great—definitely an earlier-model digital recorder that wasn’t being held completely still—but sure enough, it’s Eddie. Young—god, so young—but in a jacket and tie, looking entirely comfortable as he sets a bow to the cello strings and sinks into a familiar Bach melody. It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. Buck can hear the passion regardless of the minor hiccups, can see it in his face, and he feels—he feels—

—desperately sad. For the boy on the screen and the man he knows, who put the music away and became a soldier and a husband and a father instead, one who never does anything for himself.

Buck pulls out his phone and calls Sophia before he can think about anything else.

“I have an idea,” he says when she picks up. “But I don’t want to just do it if it wouldn’t go over well, so I wanted to ask—”

By the end of the conversation, he has a plan and a dozen new tabs open in his browser and he’s pretty sure Christmas can’t come soon enough.

* * *

The thing about being in love with your best friend is…there’s really nothing to be done about it. Every day, Buck goes to work and sees Eddie or is over at Eddie’s with Christopher or is texting him or calling late at night, and he falls a little bit more. He can’t help himself, can’t stop it—he just does. 

He supposes he could try. He could date. Could try, anyway. He’s pretty sure he isn’t at risk of slipping back into old habits.

But. The problem is, he doesn’t really want to. He doesn’t want to _stop_ being in love with Eddie even if it means never saying it, never admitting he wants more, constantly trying not to think about what Eddie’s mouth would feel like, how his skin would taste—

It’s fine. He loves Eddie and Eddie is his best friend and that’s enough. 

When Christmas finally rolls around, Eddie opens his gift—the gift Buck worked with everyone to get in secret—and stares at the black cello case for a long moment. Buck tries not to watch too carefully, feeling almost like he’s intruding on something private by observing at all as Eddie opens the case and blinks to clear the shine of tears, as he clears his throat roughly and looks away. 

“Thank you,” Eddie finally says, and Buck hangs back a little in the group hug that follows, still participating, but letting everyone else be closer. He feels a little like the words swirling through his mind might just trip off his tongue if he isn’t careful, and he doesn’t want that. It’s enough that he was right, that he did good, that he’s responsible for making Eddie smile the way he is. 

“So I heard something interesting from Sophia,” Eddie says a few days later when the two of them are on his couch. Christopher is already asleep in his room and the lights from the Christmas tree cast merry shadows on the walls. Buck is comfortable and warm from the blanket across his lap and the glass of spiked apple cider he’s been sipping, so he’s not really thinking when he tips his head back against the couch and lazily glances over to Eddie.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“She said you were the one who came up with the idea to get me the cello. And the lessons. And that you did all the research to find the best one.”

Buck swears internally. 

“I—” There’s not really a way to lie, not if Sophia has already let the cat out of the bag. “—I guess, yeah, I did.” 

“Why?”

Eddie’s watching him closely, and Buck swallows hard, feeling too exposed, like everything he feels must show on his face, however he answers.

“Because you were so good at it. And it seemed like you missed it, and—and I guess I thought you deserved something that would make you happy. Something that was just yours,” Buck replies, even as he looks away.

_Because I wanted to make you happy._

_Because I love you so much sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe._

“Buck.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, but Buck can feel the couch shift as he moves closer. Eddie touches his cheek and Buck’s breath catches. He chances a glance and Eddie’s eyes are soft. He only gets a moment to register that before Eddie’s leaning in and kissing him. 

Buck gasps into it, his hands coming up to curl into the front of Eddie’s sweater. Eddie takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss and Buck damn near melts at the hot slide of Eddie’s tongue against his. 

He’s not entirely convinced he’s not dreaming, but if he is he doesn’t want to wake up.

“You know, she said something else too,” Eddie says breathlessly when he finally breaks the kiss. Buck’s head is fogged over with want, with the ache of needing to get as close as possible, and it takes him a moment to register that.

“Did she?”

Eddie hums and sets his mouth to Buck’s jaw. “Said you were in love with me. And that I should stop being a pining idiot and get off my ass and do something about it.” 

“Well…” Buck gets his fingers in Eddie’s hair and catches his mouth again. “She might have been right about that.”

“Might have?”

“You need me to say it?”

Eddie smiles and shakes his head. “No.”

Later, after they’ve spent another several long minutes learning each other’s mouths and Buck’s debating how slow they should take things if he’s already been in love with him for years, Eddie pulls away and tugs an envelope out of his back pocket.

“What’s this?” Buck asks.

Eddie shrugs. “You gave me the music back,” he says quietly. “I thought maybe I could give you some too. And that we could go together.”

Buck opens the envelope and pulls out two tickets for the LA Philharmonic. _The Best of Rimsky-Korsakov: Capriccio Espagnol and Scheherazade_.

He huffs a laugh. 

“Maddie said you liked the Russian composers,” Eddie adds. “But that’s not the only concert left in the season if—”

Buck kisses him. Because he wants to. And because he can.

“I do,” he agrees. “It’s perfect. Just one thing—” He looks down at the date on the tickets and flashes a grin. “—we don’t have to wait until March to have our first date, right? Because honestly…”

Eddie laughs and tugs Buck in again. And his heart sings.


End file.
